“Bones told me you’re the only person he’s afraid of.”
“That applies to a lot of people.” He reached forward and grabbed the decanter sitting on the coffee table. Judging by the amber color, it must be scotch. He filled a short glass then threw his head back as he downed it in a single swallow. But he wasn’t done because he refilled the glass.
“Is that apple juice?”
He smirked then poured another glass—one for me. “See for yourself.”
I left the glass untouched. “It’s Grave Toussaint.”
He stared at the glass in his hand and didn’t take a drink. His reaction was subtle, a quick tightening of his jawline, a whiteness to his knuckles. But then it was gone in a flash, as if it was never there in the first place.
“You’ve got to help me—”
“I don’t have to do anything.” He turned back to me, his eyes angry. “Let’s not forget the circumstances here. You’re a peasant asking a king for his army when you have literally nothing to offer in return.”
“I have money.”
He suppressed a laugh by taking a drink.
“A million euros—”
“You know how much I pay my staff on a daily basis to run this ship? Thirty thousand euros. Your money is worthless to me.” He brought the glass to his lips and took a drink. “I’m officially bored with this conversation. I’ll tell the captain to return to the dock so you can get the fuck off my property.”
“Wait—”
“I don’t care about your miserable life.” Now he raised his voice. “How can I make that clearer?”
I’d worked so hard to gain an audience with this man. I couldn’t let it all be a waste. “Whether you help me or not, I’ve got to kill this guy. So, is there any advice you could give me?”
He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly annoyed. “You want my advice? Run.”
“I’m not going to live my life like that—”
“Then die.” He held my gaze as he said it, just to prove how indifferent he truly was. “Because you aren’t going to kill Grave, and you sure as hell aren’t going to recruit me to kill him either.”
“How can you be enemies if you don’t want to kill each other?”
His answer was a stare. “Stop questioning me as if you have the right to my answers.”
“Look, if you don’t want to kill him…could I at least stay with you?”
Now his eyebrows furrowed deeper than ever before.
“I can be part of the staff. One of the maids. I could help in the kitchen. You don’t have to pay me—just let me stay on your property. I know he won’t touch me here.”
His stare continued, like he didn’t know what to make of the offer. “I have plenty of maids. I have several chefs. I have valets, gardeners, personal assistants. My staff is fully booked.”
I’d feared that was what he would say.
“Why do you run from him?”
It was too personal to share with a stranger, but he was the one who held the cards. “It’s a long story… He basically became obsessed with me, and that obsession turned manic. I couldn’t live that way anymore, so I ran for it. He has something really important to me because he knew I’d come back for it. I tried to steal it back, but I barely escaped with my freedom. I know he’ll never stop hunting me.”
His stare was exactly as it was before, stiffly locked into place. “He loves you.”
His version of love, at least. “Yes.”
“Do you love him?”
“Would I be running from him if I did?”
“Did you ever love him?”
“No.” My answer was immediate, without hesitation, because I could never love a man like that.
“How long did this relationship last?”
“Three years.”
“And in all that time, you never loved him?” he asked, slightly incredulous.
I looked away, embarrassed. “It was a job…”
The silence was deafening.
It seemed to go on forever.
I didn’t look at him, not wanting his judgment, his ridicule, his harshness.
But it never came.
When the curiosity became too much, I looked at him again.
His eyes were on me, free of callousness. The intensity remained, studying me like I was the prized horse projected to win at the races. Like I was a business he was about to acquire. A piece of art he was about to add to his collection. “You’re hired.”
“You just said you didn’t have any room on your staff.”
“That’s not where you’ll be working.”
A flash of heat erupted through my body, stinging my nerves.
“You’ll work for me—personally. Understand?”
How could I not understand when he looked at me like that.
“Answer me.”
“Yes…I understand.”
FIVE
CAMILLE
The ship returned to the harbor, the girls left in the private car that picked them up, and then it was just the two of us in the back seat of the SUV. Two guys were in the front; one was the driver, and the other seemed to be a bodyguard.